John Young on Thu, 19 Aug 2004 16:06:21 +0200 (CEST)


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Re: <nettime> my Alan Sondheim is bigger than yours


Cyrill,

Your Sondheim valorization is commendable if you can keep it
up. There is a point when getting in bed with Alan leads to being
tied to it, like Seinfeld's George Castanza, expecting swell mutual 
high-minded fucking, then your bedmate suddenly comes out of
the bathroom fully street-clothed, rifles your wallet, finds little there, 
accuses you of being an idiot putz for failing to meet his thieving
expectations, for believing he was the man of your dreams, for 
falling for a slick seduction exploiting your low esteem, for your 
thinking this is a man who knows my finer qualities, can boost my
future when it was bleak. 

Philosophical sadists, artists of the con art, excel at that stroking 
of mindful aesthetes preparatory to rendering them obedient, 
the masterful auto-erotic narcissists contemning their slaves ever
dreaming abject praise will stop the addictive torture. 

Your panhandling for contributions indicates it is too late to escape 
Alan's pimpage, still, I will pray a genuine fundamentalist ideologue 
comes to your rescue, frying pan to fire ending the delirious pain of 
the lost boy.

Alan was once my hero, my mentor, my sole voice of mother-fathering
solace. Then came the signs of disease, the rejection, the blame,
the ridicule, the ostracization, the eviction from acceptable discourse,
the being found by others who'd also suffered from Alan's olympian
conceit, his ever-searching for victims to toy with. We warn you, pity 
your state of false belief.

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